


Figments Forever

by the_7th_swan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Love Potion/Spell, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_7th_swan/pseuds/the_7th_swan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love, the most powerful force on earth. Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Lord ever. Vendo Diligo, the most potent love potion that exists. Harry Potter, the unfortunate victim subjected to all three. Emotions are wicked things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Erratic Emotions

**Author's Note:**

> The poems are mine. Please ask permission before taking or using.
> 
> IMPORTANT:  
> For warnings that might be considered as triggering for some, see 'more notes'. The warnings are a story spoiler which is why they are not tagged above. Please use your common sense and discretion when reading this story.

_Flowing softly through my veins_  
Pumping through my heart  
You're emphasizing all my pains  
As though it is an art  
You're manipulative and sly  
You bind me through and through  
Make me fall when I would fly  
And all I see is you.

**Part One: Erratic Emotions  
**

Harry awoke, feeling disoriented

His first thought was that his throat was burning. His second was that he ached all over. His third was that he was most certainly _not_ at the Dursley's.

It was that last one that was the most unsettling

He reached out blindly with his hands and eventually hit upon a bedside table where (after much searching) he was able to come across his glasses. The room immediately came into focus.

It was almost entirely decorated in green and silver. In fact, the only break from what was obviously the theme was the mahogany bed (which he was currently sprawled upon), the bedside table and the wardrobe. Although it was slightly more reassuring than a dungeon cell, Harry did not find the obviously Slytherin theme at all comforting. And it _was_ Slytherin- the subtle uses of snakes in the decoration assured Harry of that.

It was a magnificent room- far nicer than anything Harry had stayed in- but Harry could not help but feel apprehensive. The feeling grew quite significantly when he tried the main door and found it locked. It grew even more so when he realized he did not have his wand. He walked back to the bed (which was king-sized and ridiculously large) and threw himself upon it, trying to recall what had happened.

He remembered lying in his bed at the Dursley's and hearing a shout. He remembered grabbing his wand was running downstairs to see what had caused the disturbance. He remembered a shout… a cry?… a spell. Yes, an incantation. Then everything had simply… faded away…

Hardly put at ease by the memories, Harry supposed there was really only one thing he could do.

Wait.

 

* * *

 

A knock came at the door and Harry sat up abruptly as it swung open without awaiting an invitation. The fact that it was Lord Voldemort himself that entered made Harry incredulous that he had knocked at all- and also made him review his situation for the worse.

"Ahh Harry, how lovely to see you again." Voldemort said in what could almost be deemed a pleasant way.

"Forgive me if I don't return the sentiment Tom," Harry returned wryly, trying to remain calm and enjoying the flicker of annoyance that graced Voldemort's eyes when he uttered his first name.

"Of course," Voldemort snapped, voice more clipped now.

"So, you going to kill me then?" Harry asked warily.

"Oh no, not at all. I've devised something much more fun. You see, I know the Prophecy Harry- I'm actually surprised at how easily I could penetrate your mind while you slept. I know almost everything you do, minus a few small details about the order. But no matter, I'll retrieve them eventually. The point, my dear Harry, is that although I'm quite positive I'd best you in a duel I am not willing to take any chances," Voldemort explained smoothly.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry blurted.

"Always the impatient one, my Harry." Voldemort purred, almost an endearment, and Harry froze, not liking the direction this was going,. "Rather than killing you I will force you to join me. Or at least, make it impossible to kill me"

"I'll never join you," Harry spat, forgetting for a moment he was completely unarmed. "And no matter what, I will destroy you."

"Could you destroy someone you loved Harry?" Voldemort asked frankly. Harry blinked.

"Of course not," He said simply, wondering if, perhaps, Voldemort had taken a hostage in order to secure his obedience.

"I have dosed you with _'Vendo Diligo'_. Do you know what that is Harry?" Voldemort prompted idly.

Harry didn't, but he was willing to bargain his entire fortune on the fact that it wasn't a good thing

"It was sometimes used in arranged marriages- in cases where the couple hated each other. Usually each would take the potion but I assure you that I have done no such thing. Basically it means _'Betraying Love'_ and it forces you to slowly, gradually and, best of all, sincerely, fall in love with the person assigned. Even better, you will find it impossible to harm me without harming yourself. You kill me and you, yourself, will die," Voldemort said, smiling wickedly. Harry stared, horrified at that notion.

"Don't be ridiculous," He finally scoffed, "I'd never love you."

"You won't have a choice in the matter," Voldemort returned simply "You'll fight it, of that I have no doubt, but you will not succeed. You _will_ fall in love with me and when I finally take you as my own it will be with you desperately egging me on."

The words sounded uncomfortably prophetic to Harry and he gulped.

"You can't alter destiny," Harry whispered, "Love or no love, one of us will die at the hand of the other."

"But Harry, surely you, of all people, realize just how powerful a force love can be," His eyes flickered briefly to his scar before he smiled and left. As the door closed Harry thought two things- one, that Voldemort may have finally learned the value of love and two, that, in a way, he was already dead.

 

* * *

 

_Serpentine hands caressed his body slowly, gently, silently worshiping his flesh and Harry shuddered as Goosebumps followed the hands as they trailed downwards. The touch was smooth and slightly calloused, seeming to know exactly where to linger and making Harry writhe helplessly under the unmerciful caress. They brushed his crouch teasingly and an impossible, pleasurable heat engulfed Harry as he moaned. As the hands continued to go downwards Harry was willing to give his entire fortune if it meant those hands would wounder back up. The hands, as though answering his prayers, travelled back upwards- only to dance around Harry's persistent erection. Harry groaned his disappointment and a low voice chuckled, obviously amused by his predicament. The laugh, though it sent wonderful shivers down his spine, sounded oddly familiar to Harry who opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) only to find a pair of glowing red ones staring right back at him._

 

* * *

 

Harry awoke with a strangled gasp, still feeling the heat from where the invisible hands had roamed his body. Feeling utterly repulsed he had the strong desire to have a shower- as though to wash off the fifth the dream had coated him with. To his utter shame the mere thought of the dream (and the thought of Voldemort doing such things to him) did not cause the disgust he was hoping for but instead created a surge of longing through his veins and caused to make his morning erection more prominent. These facts in itself dispelled such thoughts, as Harry knew then, with absolute certainty, that what Voldemort had promised was indeed coming to pass.

The potion was starting to have effect.

 

* * *

 

It was noon when the knock came at the door. Harry knew, without knowing how, that Voldemort stood on the other side of that door. He was proven right when the door swung open and Voldemort glided in.

He looked as he had always done- not at all desirable physically. And yet, as he drew closer, his entire body seemed to radiate with a wonderful sort of heat. His proximity put his hair on end and made him wait expectantly for something he wasn't sure he could name- or even sincerely want.

"Taken affect yet, my pet?" Voldemort asked, reaching out a hand only to stop it a millimetre from his skin.

Harry bristled at such a demeaning endearment and fought the insane urge to tilt his head so that the pale palm of the Dark Lord would brush his flesh.

"Poor Harry," Voldemort taunte,d "You are mine now. Bought, won and branded."

Harry felt his temper build as well as his irritation.

"I hate you," He whispered passionately.

"Not for long," Voldemort rebuked, a cruel, ironic smirk twisting his lips. He leaned closer and Harry fought the desire to both pull away and move forward to meet him, instead staying perfectly still. Voldemort chuckled and, like his dream, it sent tiny shivers along his back. Voldemort caught the stray thought and smiled.

"Dreaming I see. It would make it so much easier if you just gave in," Voldemort said, almost mildly as though resigned that it wasn't going to happen. Harry felt his ire rise and, it a fit of desperation, he lashed out, striking Voldemort harshly accross the face.

Searing pain assaulted his jaw and Harry felt as though a brick wall had just struck him. He cried out hopelessly, falling backwards onto his bed, his right hand going automatically to his jaw only to feel smooth skin. He looked up to see that Voldemort looked not annoyed, or even pained. Only amused.

"I did mention you would find it impossible to hurt me Harry," He reminded, the redness in his jaw indicating the pain for him had been far less, "Not without hurting yourself with twice as much force, in any case. You are tied to me now Harry. What I feel, you feel. Luckily for me, it does not work both ways."

Harry scowled, feeling his annoyance rise.

"Stubborn," Voldemort smiled, seeing his defiant expression. He made the word a caress and Harry prided himself on the fact that he failed to react. Perhaps having had his fun, or sensing there was nothing more to gain and his point had been proven, Voldemort gave a wicked smirk and walked from the room as elegantly as he had entered it.

 

* * *

 

The days passed with agonising slowness and Harry was sure he was going insane.

It was not the room. He was used to being confined to a single room because of the Dursley's and although he found himself inevitably restless he was smart and patient enough to realise Voldemort did not intend to cage him forever.

It was not the food. Harry had only eaten so well when he was at Hogwarts and although his circumstances were certainly affecting his appetite he ate far more than he usually did.

It was not the lack of company. Harry saw no one at all (indeed, even his meals were brought up and taken away but magic) but considering the house was one used to house Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, Harry considered this fact to be more of a blessing than a curse.

No, if it was anything at all it was the potion running through his veins.

It was difficult to ignore the effects during the day (the sensation he was missing a vital appendage, the glowing warmth he experienced when his mind so much as passed the Dark Lord, the dreadful anticipation whenever he thought of another visit and countless other little things) but it was still possible. No, what was impossible to ignore, dismiss or escape were the dreams. Harry was fighting every single aspect of the potion-- and he was losing against every single one.

He was feeling rather at his wits end and so was rather thankful when, five days later, the door just simply, casually, swung smoothly open. At first Harry just stared at it, hardly about to believe that Voldemort would simply open the door and let him out without trying anything- especially without taunting him. Then he caught sight of the note stuck neatly to the back of the door. Hesitating only slightly he picked it neatly off.

' _Harry,_

_I rather think enough time had passed to let you out of your gilded prison. Please feel free to explore the manor at your leisure and I shall warn you only once that any attempts to escape will not prove favourable to your health and will only earn you a vast amount of time locked up somewhere slightly less desirable than your room._

_I hope you enjoy your stay at Riddle Manor,_

_Lord Voldemort.'_

Harry scowled at the letter thinking that Voldemort even wrote in a Slytherin manner. It was a little unsettling because when he said escaping would not prove favourable to his health Harry knew he meant _'Try and escape and I'll_ Crucio _you so badly you won't be able to stand for a week'._ This meant that Harry wouldn't be as stupid as to try and escape. He scowled at the letter again and made to crunch it up only to pause, suddenly unwilling to destroy something Voldemort had given him. He frowned at the sentimentality but resignedly slipped the note securely into his pocket.

Still, at least he was allowed out of the room.

 

* * *

 

If anything could be said about the house that Lord Voldemort built it could be summarised in one word: green.

Other words would include: large, spacious, winding, serpent themed and deserted. Either Voldemort and his Death Eaters were in a part of the mansion that was inaccessible to Harry or they had all cleared off for the day. Harry firmly hoped it was the latter.

In any case, although he was sincerely glad to be out of that room the rest of the Manor was just as exciting. Most of the doors led to spare rooms, studies and (every now and then) a plain, unfurnished room that the past owners clearly had no idea what to do with. Harry wondered what the point was of buying such a large house if one had no use for it.

Then he stumbled across the library.

Wall to wall, top to bottom, complete with armchairs, tables, parchments, inkwells, a fireplace and there was even a map on the wall.

Well… at least he wouldn't get behind in his schoolwork.

_3 hours later…_

Harry lay curled up in an armchair by the fire the book in his hands proclaiming _'How To Spell Your Way Out of Trouble'_ and his mind fixed firmly on his book.

' _Fire is a good distraction- especially just harmless bursts of it which can distract your enemy with a singed robe, burst of light or from the sheer heat. Not to mention that a burning building will be rather more important than whatever trouble you happen to be causing. The best spell for this would be_ 'Firosa'. _To cast grip your wand firmly, concentrate deeply on the vision of fire, swish your wand in a spiral (counter clockwise only) and say the spell firmly'_

Harry closed his eyes briefly, imagining he was holding his wand and swished his wrist murmuring _'Firosa'_ as he did so.

The wood in the fire grate- unlit because of the warm weather- promptly burst into flames. Eyes flying open Harry stared at it in shock, looking at first the flames and then his unmarked hand.

He smiled.

 

* * *

 

_It was dark, the night seeming to seep into is bones and it felt suddenly impossible that he could ever see again. His touch was heightened by this lack of sight and the fingernails trailing gently down his naked body caused him to absolutely purr with desire._

_His breathing, which sounded indefinitely loud in the darkness, seemed only outranked by the moans those dexterous hands pulled effortlessly from his mouth like grapes ready for harvest._

_His lover (the word sounded foreign and ill-fitting even to his mind) was silent but efficient evidently having much experience and able to bring him on to the edge of madness in very little time at all._

_He wanted to beg, he wanted to scream and cry and shout and tear at the alabaster back in order to force the man to do something- anything- to end his torture. His lover chuckled sounding merely amused which irked Harry even further in his frustration and he let out a choked sob as he looked into merciless hot red eyes._

 

* * *

 

Harry spent every moment he had in the library. He threw himself into learning as many wandless spells as possible and testing his limits. It turned out it took a lot of concentration and at first it was very tiring- he had to slowly build a resistance to it.

Of course, his exhaustion meant he was sleeping longer and considering how vivid his dreams were getting, it was becoming a bit of a problem. Rather than make him reluctant to preform and learn more spells it made him more determined to do so- not only did it get his mind off the dreams but it gave him a small spark of hope that, perhaps, things weren't so bleak.

It was three days later when, as he was reading yet another Defence book, he was interrupted by the smooth cultured voice of Lord Voldemort.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts Harry? That's hardly going to help you now, especially considering the fact that you're completely unarmed."

"It was my favourite subject. Reading it makes me feel normal. Besides, I've hardly anything better to do," Harry said shortly, without looking up. He might be under the thrall of the Dark Lord but the potion did not erode his common sense- and telling his nemesis about his wandless magic was just plain stupid.

"Your in luck then. I'm having a Death Eater meeting tonight and I want you to attend," Voldemort returned, with the air of someone inviting him to a wonderful party. Harry turned a page, looked abjectly uninterested.

"I'll pass thanks," He dismissed easily.

"You sound as though you have a choice," Voldemort remarked, amused as always by his stubbornness.

"Your not going to drag me to every Death Eater you have- you'll get sick of it after a while- and I'm hardly going to consent to you showing me off to your little servants while you force me to watch as you torture innocent muggles," Harry shot back, voice perfectly polite.

Voldemort seemed undeterred.

"But I have planned this meeting with you in mind," He enticed, the words slightly ominous, "I want you to be there, and considering the circumstances I'm positive you would want to go as well."

Harry considered that, dreading that perhaps Voldemort had captured or harmed one of his friends and, if so, if he would be in any position to plead for them. He decided to cut a deal.

"I'll go to this meeting," Harry allowed slowly, "If you treat me like a guest, not a pet, and if it is the only one I have to go to."

Voldemort seemed to consider that, obviously debating whether it was worth the effort required to drag him to it regardless. He must have decided that it was not because he finally nodded

"Very well. Someone will fetch for you at six sharp," Voldemort decided firmly before turning and gliding gracefully from the room

Harry was left with the bizarre thought he'd been asked out on a date by the Dark Lord himself…

And had agreed to go.

 

* * *

 

He was still in the library when the clock struck six. It wasn't as if he could _'get ready'_ for this… whatever the hell it was. He was already cleanly shaved and his hair was a hopeless case right from the start. He did, however, chose another set of clothes from the wardrobe, considering his were becoming unwearable, but that was all. Besides all that, he wanted to send a clear message that Voldemort might be housing him but he controlled absolutely nothing about him. It was as if he was saying that Voldemort was worth so little to him he was quite happy to face him with as little attention to his appearance as possible.

" _Master Harry Potter?"_

Harry jumped and turned, staring at the figure with shock. When Voldemort had said someone would fetch him Harry had, of course, taken it literally. He had not, however, expected said someone to be a snake.

"Nagini I presume?"

The snake slithered forward, smelling him delicately as she studied him.

" _You are Master Tom's consort?"_ She asked innocently. Harry spluttered indignantly. The snake ignored him.

" _Follow me",_ She hissed instead as she tuned. Still feeling rather offended by her remark (consort indeed!) Harry followed rather sullenly.

It seemed that the Death Eaters had indeed cleared off the day Harry had explored the whole manor because Nagini lead him to a large, empty room that Harry had barely glanced at before moving on. Out of all the empty rooms, though, it was the largest (almost a hall) and Harry guessed this was why they used it for meetings. Indeed, the room had many ominous stains Harry had before failed to notice. The room was full of people, all with masks, and Voldemort himself sat at the front of the room, seated in an elegant throne Harry was almost certain had not been there before.

"Ah, Harry, so nice of you to join us," Voldemort greeted and Harry suddenly had the attention of every Death Eater there.

"Hey Tom," Harry returned, ignoring the lot of them "Why is Nagini under the impression that I am your consort?"

"Because you are," Voldemort replied, as though it were obvious. Harry scowled and made his way to Voldemort's side.

"I'd hardly be as presumptuous as that," Harry snapped bitterly.

"We are all but bonded, my Harry," Voldemort purred and Harry wished that his voice didn't make him shiver with desire. It made it a lot harder to remain angry with him.

"Stop that," He shot as he took his place at Voldemort's side, crossing his arms defiantly, "I am here at your request only, so behave."

"You got a good deal out of me," Voldemort reminded him, almost ruefully. "It is a fair exchange."

Harry pointedly ignored him.

"Stubborn," Voldemort muttered darkly before standing to address the now very curious Death Eaters.

"My _loyal_ subjects," Voldemort began and Harry knew right away that this would be bad, "First off, no Harry Potter has not joined me and most likely never will, but he can no longer hinder me. Reasons why are not your concern."

Despite himself Harry felt a little better after he had said that. The Death Eaters would have considered him Voldemort's whore, and thereby free torture.

"My second issue is this. I have discovered a spy."

Whispers spread through the crowd like wild fire and Harry suddenly knew, with utter certainty, why he had been called to this meeting.

"Unbeknownst to you all I have taken each and every one of you aside individually and told you that I was planning to attack a village the next day. With each of you I would assign a task, wether it be as a distraction or brewing potions," He paused here significantly and Harry suddenly became very nervous. He wondered at Voldemort's dedication- it would have taken months to go through every single Death Eater.

"Severus Snape, please step forward." He called and the crowd rippled like troubled water as the Potions Master stepped forward appearing, to all eyes, apparently unconcerned.

"I was most interested when, after I informed you of a supposed attack, the Order were in the area moments after the set time. Have you anything to say in your defence?"

Severus said nothing, but his eyes, glittering cold and full of loathing, said more than words ever could.

"Remove your mask," Voldemort hissed, calm voice suddenly gone. As Severus did so, Harry remembered exactly why Voldemort was the most feared Dark Lord of all time and actually feared for his professor's life.

" _Crucio._ "

And Severus Snape, ex-spy, member of the Order of the Phoenix, Potions Master, and all around cold, unmovable bastard, screamed.

Harry had never thought of Severus Snape screaming. It seemed impossible that the formable man be moved by anything, even the Cruciatus. It went on and on and on and Harry felt himself tensing with ever second.

When Voldemort finally stopped Harry let out a sigh to see intelligence still sparkling in his professor's eyes. He knew he could do nothing. He could hardly fight his way out when he was surrounded by so many and he was reluctant to reveal his wandless magic when there was no hope of escape.

It wasn't over yet though. They were called Death Eater's for a reason and each and every single one of them cast spells and reigned abuse upon Severus. Eventually he stopped screaming (Harry doubted he could by now) and simply flinched with every curse. Harry was shaking with repressed anger and the effort it was taking to stop himself from simply jumping to his Potion Master's aid. Finally Voldemort called the abuse to a halt and raised his wand.

" _Avada-_ "

"No!" Harry cried and pushed Voldemort's wand so that when he completed the curse it hit the wall harmlessly, leaving a black charred mark.

Voldemort turned to him; a fire in his eyes. Harry ditched his pride and begged.

"Stop it! Please! Don't kill him! I'll do anything!"

Voldemort actually paused at that and raked his eyes up and down Harry's body. Harry suddenly wondered if that were true, but held his resolve firmly as Voldemort thought.

"You will attend every Death Eater meeting I call unless I say otherwise and you will sit at my feet like an obedient little pet," Voldemort bargained and Harry scowled, looking first at Voldemort then at the bloodied Severus Snape.

"I agree, on the condition his injuries be healed and he not be harmed," He said, straining to stop his voice from wavering and deciding that it was a price worth Severus' life. Voldemort nodded.

"Take him to the dungeons. Clean and repair his wounds and keep him there. He is not to be harmed," Voldemort commanded and a nameless Death Eater came forward and dragged Severus off.

Harry watched him go with dark, worried eyes.

 

**TBC...**


	2. Helpless Heroics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is mine. Please ask permission before using or taking.

 

 

_I'm owned and I'm branded_

_I'm marked and I'm caged_

_I'm kept, I am bottled_

_But watch as I rage_

_You think I'll sit quietly?_

_You think I'll submit?_

_You think me obedient?_

_-Not even a bit_

_For my pride, it is stronger_

_My stubbornness, steal_

_My anger, a creature_

_That all heaven can feel_

_I breathe and I wait_

_My mind knows what's true_

_And with my every breath_

_Know I defy you._

**Part Two: Helpless Heroics**

 

It took a while for Harry to locate the dungeons. It had been a place he had avoided like the plague before, and even after he had located them they were so very large that it was a good hour before he found Severus' cell—trying in vein to ignore all the red, darkened stains that littered the stone floor periodically.

Severus himself looked better, though a little battered, bruised and bloodied. He was conscious, which was certainly an improvement from last time.

"Professor Snape?" Harry greeted gently.

"That title is hardly necessary Potter. I doubt I'll be teaching any time in the near future," Severus noted, voice sill scratchy and, as always, rich with sarcasm.

"Oh good, your okay," Harry breathed in relief.

"Don't worry, they'll kill me soon enough," Severus assured him dryly. Harry smiled at the fact his teacher was still as bitter as ever, finding the fact oddly comforting.

"No they won't. I made a deal with Voldemort. Your life for me willingly attending every Death Eater meeting and sitting at his feet," Harry made a face, "Sounds like fun, right?"

Severus actually looked up at that.

"You saved my life," He muttered in surprise, a statement and not a question. Harry shrugged, at a loss of what to say.

"You always seem to be getting me out of trouble. Least I could do," Harry replied simply.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Harry Potter bargained with the Dark Lord himself," Severus remarked ruefully, "What does he have on you anyway? I was surprised when you didn't attempt to attack him or something equally foolish."

" _Vendo Diligo,_ " Harry said simply. Severus' eyes widened and Harry could swear he saw a trace of pity in the man's ebony eyes.

"Have you fallen in love with him yet?" Severus asked, with the air of one inquiring after the weather.

"Not yet," Harry threw back, with a bitter smile, "but the effects have long since started. My dreams are becoming rather vivid."

"It shouldn't be long now," Severus mused, more to himself than to Harry.

"I don't suppose you know a cure?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Death," Severus parried bluntly and Harry sighed.

"That's looking rather tempting right now," Harry muttered and Severus actually smiled.

"It always does," he said, "But since the prophecy pegs you as the only hope for humanity, I'd rather advise against it."

"How can I be expected to kill someone I'll soon be in love with?" Harry demanded, "And don't forget the fact that killing him will kill me. I'm a little too young to die."

"Aren't we all?" Severus murmured, looking at his bars with distaste.

"Don't worry about yourself though Snape," Harry assured, determined to do this one thing, "I'll think of something."

Severus merely smiled

 

* * *

 

Perhaps to exercise his new found control (though maybe his motives were more honest -as laughable as that sounded) the next Death Eater meeting was the very next day. Nagini came once again to lead him to the meeting and, just as before, the hall was already full when he arrived. He wondered briefly if this was a tactic devised to make him more nervous and feel significantly more trapped- then thought cynically that it was working.

Voldemort beckoned him to his side and then, with a pointed glare and a victorious smirk, indicated that he was to sit at his feet. Harry scowled darkly, well aware of the fact that every single Death Eater was waiting to see if he would actually do it. His thoughts firmly on Severus and the fact that upholding his word was probably keeping the man alive, he smoothed down his top (which was rather dishevelled from his hands twisting the fabric) and sat with as much dignity and grace as he could muster. He was rather proud of himself as he crossed his legs and looked, to all appearances, totally at ease and unembarrassed.

Of course, the image was ruined rather effectively when Voldemort lowered a hand to run his thin, skeletal fingers through his hair.

Tingles ran happily down his spine and an almost unnoticeable shiver followed in its wake. Voldemort noticed it apparently, because the fingers stilled momentarily. Harry actually found himself leaning slightly into their gentle touch and wished absently that they would resume their movement. After a brief moment they did and Harry was rather mortified to find he was practically _purring_ with pleasure.

"My little kitten," Voldemort teased softly and Harry found himself irritated that even Voldemort's endearments were insults.

"Bastard," He swore softly, though there was not his usual heat in the words. Voldemort chuckled.

"Stubborn," he muttered before beginning to address the Death Eaters.

Harry could not have recited a single word of that meeting if his life had depended on it. His entire world consisted of the fingers playing their way softly through his hair. It was remarkable how such a demeaning touch could make his entire body shiver with pleasure—make his every nerve tingle with delight, his every hair stand to attention, his every trouble suddenly unimportant. Harry hated Voldemort for it, but for the life of him he could not resent the touch. He couldn't stop himself from wanting to continuously lean into it, couldn't stop the way he reacted to it, couldn't stop bloody purring.

He felt like a cat, like a favoured pet, indulged briefly and momentarily before it was pushed out of the way to a remote corner of the house. It was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the predatory glares of the Death Eaters and their eyes were a lot more memorable than the words Voldemort spoke. Harry could just about figure out what he was saying from the tone- it was cold, commanding, and ruthless. It took him a moment to realize that Voldemort never addressed him in such a tone. When he spoke to him, his voice was smooth and cultured and had a malicious twist to it that caused injury in other ways. It took him an even longer moment to realize that this was Voldemort being _nice_.

What a scary thought

 

* * *

 

Although there wasn't a meeting the next day, Voldemort had apparently decided that Harry wasn't about to try anything and had moved the Death Eater's back in. Now, when Harry went to the library, there were at least another five people there, looking up this or that for their Lord or simply filling up the time. Harry ignored them for the most part (though their constant glaring got a little distracting) and continued to read. The company, however, meant he could only practise wandless magic in his rooms. Indeed, everywhere he went he ran into at least one Death Eater- the library, the kitchen (which he had discovered in his explorations) and of course, the hallways.

The worst ones to walk into were the ones of the inner circle and because they were, well, the inner circle, they were the ones there the most. And being the inner circle, they were the ones that had the most experience with Harry and, therefore, gave him the most penetrating glares.

His resolve on not using wandless magic was sorely tempted with he saw Bellatrix Lestrange and, knowing she would taunt him into it, he made a point to avoid her whenever possible. In fact, he tried to avoid all those in the inner circle. He was even midly successful in doing so. He had yet to have too bad a confrontation with any of them. That time of peace was ended rather effectively when he walked through a corridor only to have his way blocked by none other than Lucius Malfoy. He moved to one side and Lucius followed him. He moved back and the same thing happened. He glared.

"Can I help you with something, Malfoy?" He snapped, irritated.

"So good to see you Potter," Malfoy greeted casually, voice all poise and elegance.

"Wish I could return the sentiment," Harry snapped bluntly, "Now move aside."

Malfoy tutted.

"Dear me Potter," He scolded, voice perfectly polite, "One would do well to teach you some manners."

His silver eyes roamed over Harry's body unabashedly and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. He felt suddenly defiled and dirty.

"See something you like?" Harry shot off scathingly, hoping to get Malfoy to sneer or storm off or do something that involved his eyes to stop looking at him like he was dessert.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Malfoy purred and the next thing Harry knew he was pressed firmly and fully against the wall.

"Your helpless Potter," Malfoy whispered in his ear and he darted out his tongue briefly. Harry shivered with disgust, "You are unarmed, delectable, and completely at my mercy. I'm going to take you and your going to beg and plead and scream and take it like the little whore you are."

Harry made a face and swore on his parent's graves that he would not _'take it'_ and that if he had to use wandless magic, then he would. Malfoy felt hard and horrible against him and everything in his very being was utterly repulsed. Malfoy licked his lips and slowly they began to draw closer. Harry prepared himself, ready to bite his tongue off if necessary.

" _Crucio._ "

Perhaps a disarming spell would have been subtler but the Cruicatus certainly did the trick and the next moment, Malfoy was on the floor screaming in agony. Harry blinked, knowing for certain that it had not been he who had cast the spell. He looked down the hall to see an irate Dark Lord pointing his wand firmly at Lucius Malfoy and quite obviously enjoying his agony.

Voldemort ended the spell and walked forward to look down on Lucius Malfoy as he got shakily to his knees.

"Harry Potter is mine," He said simply, voice as smooth as steal and cold as ice, "Touch him again and I'll kill you."

Muttering assurances, Malfoy got to his feet, bowed, and hastily made his way up the hallway. Voldemort's red eyes followed him around the bend then swung suddenly to pierce his own. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine at the intensity of those eyes and the next second he was back against the wall- only this time it sent every nerve alight with pleasure at the firmness of the contact. Harry forced himself not to moan, but neither did he trust himself to try and break free. He settled for staying completely still as Voldemort devoured him with his eyes alone.

But then Voldemort kissed him.

For someone whose main ambition was to take over the world, Voldemort was one hell of a kisser. His lips were bold, demanding and extremely skilful. Harry gasped under the assault and Voldemort took the opportunity to invade Harry's mouth with his tongue. It was velvet soft and so very wonderful that Harry was rather glad he had been pushed against the wall- he would have fallen otherwise. He lost himself completely in the kiss and his common sense and dignity apparently decided it was fitting to take a small vacation because Harry found himself wanting to surrender to the kiss- to return it. He fought stubbornly against the temptation- and lost rather dramatically, giving in with a broken sob as he kissed Voldemort back, twirling his own tongue around his and pressing himself into Voldemort's heated body.

As quickly as it started it was over and the warm presence was leaving Harry against the wall-panting, confused and utterly unsatisfied.

 

* * *

 

_The lips were everywhere. They were hot and fiery and urgent and all over him. Harry was ready to scream, ready to beg, ready to burst into a thousand tears._

_Then, suddenly, the lips were taken away and it was torture. Nothing more horrible had ever happened in the history of the world. Suddenly life was not worth living. Not without those lips and that tongue and those teeth that made him feel so… oh, wonderful._

_But the eyes were still there. So hot, and fiery and mocking and vindictive and staring right through him so it seemed all he could see was those eyes with that look that burned right through him and made him want to beg for those lips and that tongue and those teeth…_

_And he was surrounded by red._

 

* * *

 

Harry was going mad. His dreams had become more vivid than ever before- and all of them were based around that unforgiving kiss. It would have been easier if Harry had been able to say he was disgusted but the disturbing truth was that he had enjoyed it.

Life sucked.

He needed to talk to someone, to banter with someone- to do something that did not involve kissing Voldemort or thinking of kissing Voldemort, which, these days, limited his options rather effectively.

So he went to visit Snape.

"Yes, he's kept his promise and I'm still alive- though I must say, the accommodations are terrible," Were Severus' first words when he saw Harry enter. Harry smiled in amusement.

"I'll recommend you for the five star room," Harry quipped and Severus actually managed a smile.

"How goes the potion?" Severus asked and Harry felt his spirits drop dramatically.

"Badly. Voldemort kissed me," Harry admitted, frowning at the memory.

"And?" Severus propted expectantly.

"I liked it," Harry addmitted petulantly. Severus nodded sharply.

"First contact," He said, more to himself than to Harry, "Dreams and thoughts becoming more vivid?"

Harry nodded and Severus looked thoughtful.

"I thought so. It escalates with the more intimacy you experience. It'll level out a little after you engage in intercourse," He stated matter-of-factly.

Harry adopted a horrified expression at the word _'intercourse'_ and gulped.

"I'm screwed. There's no way I can get out of this, is there?" He asked despairingly.

"Afraid not, and the Order isn't even aware of what's happening, seeing as I'm unable to inform them," Severus added with a bitter smile.

"Well," Harry remarked lightly, trying to ease the atmosphere up, "I'll just have to get you out."

Severus merely raised an eyebrow.

 

* * *

 

Having nothing else to do with his time (except practise wandless magic, and even that got boring after five hours straight) Harry took to visiting Severus regularly. Though he was as rude and sarcastic as ever, his barbs were more blunt than sharp and nothing he said ever actually hit its mark. He didn't even bring up Harry's parents. In fact, for Snape, he was actually pleasant. Harry began to look forward to their talks and he suspected Severus did the same- even if it was just because he was the only human contact Severus got.

So that's how Harry spent his days: reading, practising wandless magic and visiting Severus.

This cycle was promptly disrupted when Voldemort called another Death Eater meeting. Harry, as per their agreement, had to attend. As always, the hall was already full and, as always, he subjected himself to the humiliation of sitting at Voldemort's feet. Voldemort's hand lowered to stroke through his hair and Harry used all his self-control not to think about that kiss.

"I believe Lucius," His eyes darted to a Death Eater that Harry gathered was Malfoy, "Has brought me a present for being audacious enough to touch something that belongs to me."

Harry tensed briefly at the words, knowing very well whom Voldemort was referring to. He'd almost forgotten just how possessive the Dark Lord could be.

"Yes, my Lord," Malfoy nodded. Two Death Eater's came forward and dragged with them a young girl who, by her attire, was muggle or at least muggleborn. Harry tensed again and Voldemort smiled as he took in the child's terrified expression. The Death Eater's threw her to the floor at the Dark Lord's feet and the girl scrambled hastily upright.

"Who are you?" She demanded, obviously trying to sound brave but failing rather miserably. Her hair, a vibrant red, hung in a ponytail rather haphazardly and as she spoke it moved furiously with her head, as though personifying her fury.

"I thank you for such a wonderful gift Lucius," Voldemort remarked with a dangerous smile, "I shall much enjoy breaking her."

"Don't," Harry cut in hastily, not wanting to see this innocent child tortured into insanity, "Please don't. Please."

"Are you begging, my Harry?" Voldemort inquired midly, using his hand to draw Harry to his feet so he could study his eyes. They flickered in anger.

"If it will save her life, then yes, I am willing to," Harry admitted honestly, raising his chin.

"Hear that, my followers? Famous Harry Potter is wiling to beg for the life of a mudblood." Voldemort mocked. The Death Eater's twittered with laughter. The girl looked nervously hopeful.

"You forget, my pet," Voldemort purred, making Harry look away to hide the flash of desire in his eyes, "That I am a Dark Lord. I am as close as one can get to pure evil… and I have no plans of sparing a child pain that she is so worthy of. _Crucio._ "

The girl screamed and Harry cried out. While Harry raged against the desire to preform wandless magic, the girl screamed and twitched on the floor. Voldemort laughed at her pain and Harry felt the desire increase. Voldemort lifted the curse, only to cast it again seconds later. The girl screamed louder until Voldemort cut it off and promptly cast the Killing Curse. Then she fell, as still as stone. Harry cried out in anguish and turned to Voldemort with fiery eyes.

"She was a child, Tom!" He screamed in anguish, "A child! How could you do such a thing to a child?"

Voldemort stood and brought Harry into his arms. Harry struggled with all his might, still distressed and repulsed by what he had done. Then Voldemort kissed him.

Harry was far too gone to actually resist the kiss but his indignation gave him power and he managed to stay absolutely still, neither responding nor drawing away. Voldemort noticed and growled, shoving his tongue forcefully in Harry's mouth and exploring it so thoroughly that one would think he hoped to make a map. Harry quivered, feeling his resolve tremble under the pleasure that was running through him. Voldemort, apparently admitting defeat, began to draw away.

Harry snapped.

He threw his arms tightly around Voldemort's neck and drew him in further. Voldemort smiled into his lips but obediently resumed his explorations. They were not one-sided this time and Harry found himself responding just as enthusiastically, his entire body swimming with sensation. Lack of air forced them apart and it was only when those thought-clouding lips were removed that Harry's head cleared. He realized then exactly what he had done. He groaned in despair and hopelessness, because despite that, he still wanted the kiss to happen again.

"Bastard," He spat bitterly, channelling his inner rage at Voldemort.

"Stubborn," Was all Voldemort said in reply, voice eerily fond and totally dismissive of the Death Eater's watching them with shock.

Harry made quite a point of storming the hell off.

 

* * *

 

Voldemort was the most powerful Dark Lord that ever lived. He was intelligent, strong and had more magic that one could shake a stick at (pun intended).

He was, however, extremely arrogant.

It was this, more than anything else, which caused him to lock the potion's cabinet with a simple locking charm. After all, who would be stupid enough to steal from the Dark Lord? The only candidate was Harry Potter and he couldn't even use magic…

Or so Voldemort thought.

It was so ridiculously easy to open the cupboard, take the Polyjuice Potions and then lock the cupboard once more that Harry nearly laughed. Instead he had left a note (written with magic and no hand that anyone could identify) with only a single word sprawled accross the parchment:

_'Fools'_

He was looking forward to seeing his dear Voldemort's reaction when he saw _that_.

Finding Lucius Malfoy was harder. While it was true that he could have used anyone, he hated Lucius more than any other at the current moment- both because of his disgusting advance and for the muggle that he had so thoughtlessly used as a gift.

For that alone, Lucius would pay.

After almost half an hour of searching, Harry checked the library once more and found Lucius sitting on a chair reading a book and looking as though he had been there all along- despite the fact that Harry had checked that very room a mere fifteen minutes ago.

Harry approached him with much more control and composure than he actually had. Lucius, feeling his eyes upon him, looked up with a scowl.

"What do you want Potter?" He snapped inpatiently.

Harry was very quick in casting the stunning spell. A quick _'Notice-Me-Not'_ later and Harry was on his way to the dungeons. Needless to say Severus was rather surprised to see him.

"Potter, is that Lucius Malfoy?" He blurted in shock.

"Yep" Harry agreed cheerfully, placing him not so gently on the floor and plucking a single hair. He got out one of the two vials he carried and put the hair in. To his amusement it turned a hot pink.

"A hair, if you will," He requested. Severus, recognising the potion, handed the hair over. Harry put it in the remaining vial and it turned the blackest of black. Severus looked quite smug at that.

Without much care Harry poured it down Malfoy's throat.

"This will teach you to hit on me," He muttered furiously, "I shall be scarred for life."

"Remind you never to piss you off," Severus snarked dryly as Harry handed him the remaining vial. He drowned it quickly and soon Lucius Malfoy sat in the cell and Severus Snape at his feet, still unconscious.

"Now, the cell," Harry mused, considering it. Severus suddenly looked annoyed.

"You didn't bring the key? How on earth do you plan to get me out? Wave your hand and say _'Open Sesame'_?" Severus snapped.

"That'll do," Harry quipped cheekily and waved his hand, concentrating. The cell door swung obediently open.

Severus stared.

"No _Open Sesame_ , I know, but just as theatrical, I think," Harry remarked slyly, in the best mood he'd been in for a long while.

"How…?" Severus managed to ask through his shock.

"I can do wandless magic," Harry explained, "Only, obviously, I haven't been. Doubt it would please Voldemort much if he found out and I could hardly match him in a fight."

Severus shook his head in dismayed amazement "Only you Potter," he muttered as he stood, seeming to be very uncomfortable in his Lucius Malfoy disguise. Harry waved his hand and the robes he wore were no longer rags.

"Its only an illusion," He warned, "I can't very well transfigure the robes your wearing without a wand, but this should suffice. You better hurry, Professor. The potion only lasts an hour, remember, and I recall it passes quite quickly."

Severus eyed him suspiciously at that but nodded. He hesitated at the door, however and turned to address him directly.

"I will come back for you, Potter," He promised, "And I'll bring the Order with me."

"I'll be under the complete control of the Potion by the time you get here," Harry reminded him, "But if you come, potion or no, I swear that I will fight."

"I'll message you when we come," He added, not saying how he would send it or how Harry would receive it, only that it would be done. Harry believed him. "And Potter?"

"Yes Professor?" Harry asked lightly as he started pulling the changed Lucius into the cell and getting him as dirty as possible in the process.

"Thank you."

The Potions Master was gone before Harry could reply. Harry rolled his eyes, thinking that old habits died hard, and took great pleasure in tossing Lucius into the cell and slamming the door harshly behind him.

Productive day, really.

 

* * *

 

To say that Voldemort was a little upset was like saying that the sea was a little wet. Indeed, Harry doubted there wasn't a room in the manor that didn't suffer from the scorch marks his out-of-control magic caused as he lashed out.

"Escaped!" He cried at the meeting, Harry sitting obediently at his feet (trying hard not to enjoy the warmth of Voldemort's presence), "How in Merlin's name did he escape?"

A Death Eater made to answer and Voldemort cursed him viciously before he could utter a single word. Harry supposed that Dark Lords were famous for their tempers for a reason.

"Why would you just leave the potion in the cupboard like that?" Harry muttered, the only one daring to speak. Then again, he was a Gryffindor and known to do foolish things. Voldemort glared at him, eyes flashing, and raised his wand, only to curse a random Death Eater. Harry wondered if he were grateful for that or not.

"I will be absent a few days," Voldemort declaired abruptly,. "I must investigate this"

"What can you do?" Harry asked in surprise, "He'll be back at Hogwarts by now and you can hardly penetrate _those_ wards."

"I need to confer with my allies," Voldemort shot back dangerously, eyes warning him not to press his luck, "I need to collect some items and see if I cannot find who freed the traitor. He will pay with his blood."

"So you're just going to leave?" Harry demanded, wondering at the feeling in his stomach. Voldemort smirked at him cruelly.

"Why, my Harry? Will you miss me in my absence?" He whispered, eyes gleaming.

Harry bristled even as heat swamped through him at the tone. The Death Eaters laughed and Harry felt himself flush.

"Of course, Tom," He snarled, lifting his chin,"As much as one would miss a hole in the head."

Voldemort laughed, using a chalk-white finger to raise Harry's gaze to meet his slitted one. He ducked his head down for a kiss that Harry (mercifully, frustratingly) did not have time to react to before it was over.

"I leave tonight," He announced, "If I find my pet has been harmed in my absence, my rage will be such as you have never seen. This meeting is over."

Harry frowned at the nickname and stood, brushing his clothes down as though just sitting near Voldemort had tainted them.

"Don't worry Harry," Voldemort consolled with a twisted smile, "I shall return to you in three days time."

Harry could only hope he didn't. He said so before, with his head held high, he swept out of the room.

 

 

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be updated soon. If you read, please review.


	3. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems are mine. Please ask permission before you take or use them.

_I don't miss you_   
_I know that it's true_   
_I don't need you_   
_I think that we're through_   
_I don't miss your voice_   
_And I don't miss you smile_   
_I don't miss your heat_   
_In fact, it's all vile_   
_I don't miss your hands_   
_I don't miss your touch_   
_I don't miss your kisses_   
_Well… I don't miss them much_   
_I don't have a need_   
_I don't have a hole_   
_My heart isn't hollow_   
_Turned from fire to coal_   
_This house isn't empty_   
_A cold, lonely place_   
_And I don't find where you were_   
_Is a vast, empty space_

 

**Part Three: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder**

 

Harry had thought it torture to be living  _with_ Voldemort. In reality, it was a thousand times worse without him. It was like he was missing something. Like there was a hole in the centre of his heart that refused to go away and did, indeed, seem to grow larger the more time that passed

He found himself actually _missing_ the Dark Lord. Missing his warm presence that always caused his blood to rush. Missing his voice, curbed as it was, and the way it would send shivers down his spine when a word was uttered. Missing the sarcasm and the intellect and the company. Without the Dark Lord, surprisingly few people were willing to speak to him. He missed the casual touches, teasing as they were, and the way they would make his body temperature soar. He missed the kisses, few as they had been, and the sheer unrelenting passion they had held.

He bloody well hated it.

The nights were just as bad. No one should have such erotic dreams that left him or her so utterly unsatisfied. To his disgust, he found himself... 'relieving the pressure' while picturing the Dark Lord. To his further horror he couldn't actually feel disgusted- about the absolute pleasure this caused or the act itself.

And he had fallen in love with Lord fucking Voldemort

He wondered when the hell that had happened. The realization that he was literally longing for the Dark Lord's company had been an abrupt one. The depth of his desire had been startling. The overwhelming pressure of Voldemort's absence weighed him down and tortured him slowly.

He was breaking. It was only three days and already he was on the brink. He wanted nothing more to see Voldemort again and this, in itself, despaired him.

Harry really hated his life.

To make things even worse than they were, Harry found himself, of all things, _worried_ about the absent Dark Lord.

What if he was hurt? What if he was dead? What is he was lost and cold and lonely and waiting for Harry? What if he needed him and Harry wasn't there? What if, even now, he was in excruciating pain?

It was ridiculous, it was absurd and it was totally mind consuming. He felt like a wife whose husband had just gone to war. No matter what he told himself- that Voldemort was evil, that he was awful, that he killed and murdered and maimed with absolutely no mercy whatsoever- he could not stop all the feelings fighting for his attention.

He was utterly screwed.

 

* * *

 

Harry knew the moment Voldemort returned.

For one, the wards gave a little flutter, acknowledging and welcoming his presence. For another, every Death Eater in the house flocked to the house entrance like owls with a letter. Harry, unable to resist, followed.

Voldemort was indeed there, looking annoyed (most likely from his lack of success in finding the perpetrators) but perfectly fine. His loyal servants knelt hastily at his feet, bowing and murmuring their welcomes.

Not Harry.

Harry literally threw himself at Voldemort and kissed him. He vaguely heard the Death Eaters exclaim their shock. Voldemort's own surprise was far more important and even that ceased to be when he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and began to respond.

Harry relaxed into Voldemort's embrace, his arms creeping around Voldemort's neck as the strong arms pulled him closer. He allowed himself to drown in the kiss, sinking into the warmth that Voldemort created.

Then a tongue penetrated his mouth and it was all Harry could do to remain standing.

The tongue was soft as silk and ridiculously talented, exploring his mouth with a demanding and practised flair. Their tongues duelled, a fight that Voldemort easily won, and when they finally pulled apart from lack of air, both were flushed and panting, Harry far more so than Voldemort who was only slightly out of breath.

"I rather like this welcome," Voldemort declared, amused.

"Bastard," Harry scolded, though his voice sounded far too fond for his liking, "You could have written me. Your not hurt are you?"

Harry studied Voldemort's form critically, searching for any weakness and Voldemort chuckled.

"I am perfectly fine," Voldemort assured, "Did you worry about me, my pet?"

"Don't call me that," Harry snapped. He did, however, continue his assessment until he was satisfied that Voldemort truly was unharmed and not merely putting on a display for his followers.

"Still have spirit, I see," Voldemort noted.

"You'll not rid me of that Tom," Harry declaired firmly.

"I have no intention to," Voldemort said simply, "Your much more fun with it."

"I am not a toy," Harry snapped, "Not a thing of entertainment."

He was remembering, quite vividly, just how annoying Voldemort was. Still, his very soul sung in pleasure at his presence. Harry felt vaguely disgusted at himself.

"Of course not," Voldemort placated, with just a hint of patronisation.

"You should have written," Harry could not help complain, "I was worried."

"How sweet," Voldemort smiled, raising a hand to Harry's cheek. Harry slapped it away, frowning.

"Bastard," Harry spat, annoyed with Voldemort and with himself. He had to remind himself that Voldemort was a Dark Lord. He would not feel love or kindness or even affection for Harry. He would just feel possessive. He would think, without a trace of doubt, that Harry was his. That he belonged to him.

Harry wished it wasn't true

"Ah, my pet," Voldemort sighed, voice a trace softer than usual, "I have missed you"

He left Harry in the corridor with a last soft touch to the side of his face. Harry stood feeling utterly alone despite the dozen Death Eaters surrounding him.

And he could not help but raise a hand to his cheek.

 

* * *

 

Harry was brooding.

He had a horrible life and it was his right to brood, Merlin damn it, so brood he would. All night if he bloody well wanted to. His room was, at the very least, quiet and thus, provided the perfect atmosphere.

A knock came at the door and Harry glared at it. The moment was ruined now.

"Go away," He snarled, not caring how petulant he sounded. He was allowed to be upset. He was in love with a man because of a potion and the man happened to not only think of him as an object but was the bloody Dark Lord to boot.

The knock did not come again but a letter was slid smoothly under the door and the rapid footsteps indicated that the sender wanted to get away from it as quickly as possible.

Harry looked at the dormant letter suspiciously, as thought it was liable to explode. Considering the house's inhabitants Harry would not put it past the letter to do so, though he expected it might do something far worse if it did anything at all.

Eventually, curiosity overrode his common sense and Harry approached the letter with the care one used when closing in on a frightened animal. He picked it up and, when it continued looking like an ordinary letter, relaxed very slightly. He was not in the clear yet, though.

The envelope was unmarked, baring not even a name, and Harry felt both his caution and curiosity increase. The curiosity won.

Nothing really dramatic happened from opening the envelope, unless you count the discovery of the letter and, considering what an envelope is commonly used for, that was hardly a news-breaking discovery. The contents of the letter were another story.

' _Dear Potter_ (it read)

_Assuming you actually idiotic enough to read an unmarked envelope (And I'm betting you are) then you would probably recognise my writing straightaway and relax in the knowledge that it contains nothing hazardous. A pity, really. Albus is most unfair._

_Because I know you're a sentimental Gryffindor with more heart than brains I shall inform you that I am quite fine, thanks to your bout of needless and reckless heroinism._

_Don't worry, Potter, the letter is charmed against unfriendly eyes. Have you no faith in me?_

_I am to inform you that, thanks to my rather thorough analysis of the Manor's wards, the Order will be there in three days time— the amount of time it will take for me to create the potion that will shatter them._

_Despite your new, rare (and therefore predictably_ you _), talent of wandless magic, please stay in your room and don't try anything disgustingly valiant or I have permission to hex you._

_On the other hand, do try it. There's an interesting curse I've been waiting most impatiently to try out. Albus wont let me use the students. No fun at all, that man._

_Do hang in there, Potter. Be rather a pity if you died. One unfulfilled Life Debt to a Potter is quite enough to last me the rest of my pathetic life._

_Most insincerely ,_

_Professor Severus Snape,_

_Potions Master.'_

Harry grinned despite himself. It was an immense comfort to know that, despite everything, Severus Snape would continue to be a sarcastic and bitter man. Harry found that rather reassuring and quite amusing. He tucked the letter into a safe hiding spot, unwilling to destroy it yet flinching from the mere though of Voldemort finding it. That man really needed some anger management.

Especially since, in three days time, the Final Battle would, quite literally, come knocking at his very door.

Harry doubted it would be polite.

 

* * *

 

Harry thought.

Despite what Severus would say, the activity caused him no pain, even if it frustrated him endlessly.

The heart of his thoughts was, inevitably, the prophecy.

It stated, in no uncertain terms, that either must die at the hand of the other-- that one of them _had_ to kill the other. The Final Battle was tomorrow, they would be staking everything on that one fight, and Harry knew, with all his heart, that he, and only he, could kill the Dark Lord known as Lord Voldemort.

The only problem was he was head over heals in love with the bastard.

Voldemort was insane, but he wasn't stupid and thus, his plan had merit. After all, how did one kill the only man they'd ever loved? And Harry loved him. He might hate it, might despise it, but he loved him all the same. In all honesty, Harry could not imagining wanting to hurt him—let alone kill him

And then, of course, there was the fact he would feel it. Killing Voldemort was the equivalent to committing suicide. His life was tied to Voldemort's— he ended one, he ended the other.

It was his duty, he knew, to kill Voldemort. It was his destiny. It was for the good of the whole world and he was the only one who could strike the final blow.

It's just be _so_ much easier if he wasn't in love with him.

There was just one thing he could do. Without a wand, without anything but his wandless magic, which he wasn't too certain of, he'd have to literally use the last weapon he had. It might work, it might not. All Harry knew in that moment was that he had made up his mind.

And he wasn't going to change it.

 

 

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More will be up shortly. If you read, please review.


	4. Love Conquers All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is mine. Please ask permission if you'd like to take or use it.
> 
> Please also note that this chapter contains a sex scene. Feel free to skip it if that disturbes you.

_They say love conquers all_   
_But does it win you battles?_   
_Does it win you drawn out wars_   
_As your gun, it rattles?_   
_Love can cease the worse despair_   
_Or cause it with a word_   
_Can love heal a broken heart?_   
_Or make you fly just like a bird?_   
_They tell me that it conquers all_   
_Family, young and friends?_   
_Interracial, black and white?_   
_Lasts until the end?_   
_They preach to us that this is true_   
_They give us lies for fact_   
_But love, it isn't easy_   
_And it won't let you back_   
_Some things, they can be more vital S_   
_ome things surpass it all_   
_There are different kinds of love, I know_   
_But it escapes me what they're for_   
_Which one are they speaking of?_   
_And in every single war_   
_What is it that solders mean_   
_When they yell "Love conquers all!"?_

**Part Four- Love Conquers All**

There was a meeting that night.

Mostly is was just Voldemort checking up on all his various projects and ensuring that they were going as they planned. That meant absolutely no mistakes. Voldemort didn't tolerate mistakes well

Harry, as usual, sat at his feet, Voldemort luxuriously stroking his long fingers through his ebony locks. Harry, far gone enough to admit it, leant into the touch and tried not to purr with pleasure. He had _some_ dignity left, after all.

He had, surprisingly, been tempted to tell Voldemort about the battle scheduled the next day. Being in love, however, made him neither an idiot nor suicidal. Telling Voldemort and ruining the Order's advantage would most certainly qualify as both.

The reports finished and Voldemort dismissed the Death Eaters looking quite satisfied. Harry got to his feet immediately, causing Voldemort's hand to fall limply past the chair's arm. He stretched, since sitting in such a way for so long cramped his muscles, and watched as Voldemort got gracefully to his feet, his eyes following Harry's movements with an odd glint.

"How can you stand all these meetings?" Harry asked, stretching his arms above his head and starting for the door, "Some of them are ridiculously boring. You'd think a Dark Lord would have more fun—and I don't mean torturing muggles."

"World domination isn't easy Harry," Voldemort said lightly, following him, "It's a lot of work."

"So I see," Harry acknowledged, "Personally, I wouldn't bother. Better things to be done with one's time."

"But you're a Gryffindor," Voldemort pointed out calmly, "World domination would never occur to you."

"Sounds too odd," Harry protested with a wry smile, "Hi, I'm Harry Potter and when I grow up, I want to rule the world! Mwhahahahaha!"

"Stick to Quiddtich," Voldemort parried, actually chuckling.

"I miss flying," Harry sighed.

"Perhaps when I trust you enough, I shall let you fly," Voldemort allowed.

"Really?" Harry asked, not quite daring to believe that.

"You are mine. What pleases you pleases me." Voldemort returned simply.

Possession, Harry reminded himself, not fondness.

"That would please me," Harry admitted, a little difficulty.

"I always keep my word Harry," Voldemort promised, "I will let you fly. One day."

Harry figured it was rather unlikely, what with the Final Battle tomorrow and the plan he had in mind. Still, he had reached his room and was eager to drop the topic. It was odd listening to Voldemort promising such things at all.

"We'll see," Harry allowed at last, turning to open his door.

A hand on his forearm stopped him and, gently but firmly, turned him around. Harry found himself pinned to the door by not only Voldemort's arms but also his fiery ruby eyes. Heat soared through him as Voldemort leaned in and, roughly, claimed his lips.

Harry's arms snaked leisurely around Voldemort's neck even as Voldemort's went possessively around his waist. They leaned heavily on the door as tongues entered the equation and Harry used his arms to draw Voldemort even closer to his body, as though to draw him in. The obvious erection digging into his hip only excited him further and, feeling mischievous, Harry angled himself and thrust into it. Voldemort hissed and, the next thing Harry knew the door was opening and they were stumbling into the room, the door closing firmly behind them and locking itself with a short wave of Voldemort's wand. And all this without ever ending the kiss.

Voldemort finally removed his lips only to apply them to Harry's neck, who gasped helplessly under the sensations plaguing him. They made their way slowly to the bed and stopped just before they reached it to strip each other of their clothing.

Voldemort's robe was the first thing to go, quickly followed by Harry's shirt, now devoid of buttons. Voldemort's hands explored the exposed skin not even feigning tenderness. The movements were rough and encompassing and totally mind blowing. His pants and boxers came off next, peeled off as one with startling efficiently. Voldemort ceased his movements for a moment to look admiralty at his body, as one would study a breathtakingly beautiful piece of art, and Harry used the pause to rid Voldemort of the rest of his clothing. His skin was white (of course) and looked remarkably fragile, especially around his stomach where the ribs stood out quite clearly. His body, like Harry's, was marred by the occasional scar, one right along his nipple. Harry licked it. Voldemort hissed. Harry found himself thrown hastily on the bed and sprawled awkwardly upon it.

Voldemort approached him with the look of a hunting lion. Harry realized, rather distantly, that he must be the gazell. But then Voldemort's body was on his and skin was touching skin, lips were touching lips and hands were touching everything and anything they could reach. Thought became a thing of the past.

It wasn't loving. It most certainly wasn't gentle. It was rough and hasty and so achingly urgent. Harry felt a need deep within him as Voldemort sucked his neck, fingers tracing along his inner calf, and he wondered what it was he wanted. He was quite sure Voldemort would know, though. Voldemort knew almost everything.

"Please," He whispered, throwing back his head to allow those devil lips better access "Please."

A hand roughly caressed his backside and trailed downwards. Harry gasped and, thrusting a hand down, yanked Voldemort up for a frantic kiss, one that he lead. Voldemort groaned, his erection a throbbing need in his side. Harry bucked into it and Voldemort hissed.

"You're a virgin?" Voldemort demanded, voice oddly strained.

"Yes," Harry admited, too swamped by heat to be embarrassed.

Voldemort did not comment. Harry saw his eyes spark, however, and deduced that this pleased him. _It would_ , Harry thought a little bitterly, _he wants to own all of me, after all, completely and totally. He's too bloody possessive to share_.

Those thoughts were hastily forgotten when he felt a finger brush his entrance. A shiver ran down his spine and Harry had to suppress a moan, just barely managing it. Then a lubricated finger (Harry really loved magic) entered him. Harry's eyes closed of their own accord as the finger moved in and out of him at a steadied pace. It burned, and Voldemort was not being as gentle as he could have be, but the pleasure was still incredible. Then another joined it. And another. The flexed and turned and danced within him and Harry felt the intermix of pleasure and pain so closely that he lost sense of which was which.

Then they were removed

Harry fought the urge to groan. He knew something else was coming. Something better. Much better

"Look at me" Voldemort hissed. Harry could only obey. Voldemort's eyes were alight with possession, lust and pleasure. Harry was sure his own eyes were glazed with all the emotions he was feeling, but he locked his gaze obediently, and did not look away.

Slowly, but certainly not with any care or love, Voldemort entered him. He hissed in the face of the tightness and Harry hissed from the stretch. It was an odd feeling, being filled so, and it caused pain as well as pleasure. Then, Voldemort was totally sheathed. He paused a moment, as though to adjust himself, then pulled out and, quite smoothly, pushed back in. Harry groaned and Voldemort repeated the motion, slowly picking up the pace.

Harry was nothing but a fast learner and soon he was thrusting up to meet Voldemort's trusts as they steadily increased their speed. Then, on a particularly angled thrust, Voldemort brushed something deep inside him and Harry, try as he might, could not contain his cry of pleasure. Voldemort's eyes flashed and he smirked slyly, angling himself so that he hit that spot ever thrust, brushing it with more force each time.

Harry could not contain the cries. Such a thing seemed impossible and he thrust back harder, searching desperately to increase the friction against that delicious spot. Voldemort's hands gripped his waist tightly and, following his lead, Harry put his hands firmly on Voldemort's lower back. The pace became frenzied. It was so fast, so very fast, and it seemed as though it was only getting faster. Harry was trapped in a world of ecstasy, a world of utter pleasure, one that consisted only of him and Voldemort and those two red eyes holding his captive.

Harry felt something tightening within him. He had never felt anything like it before. The faster they thrust, the more the sensation coiled and soon Harry was thrusting even harder to get it to spring, not really knowing what would happen, only that it would be wonderful. The eyes held his as the pleasure coiled ever tighter and Harry moaned, his lips moving helplessly, almost against his will.

"I love you," Harry breathed brokenly, knowing all Voldemort's dreams had come true. Voldemort smirked victoriously and thrust harder than ever.

Harry quickly succummed entirely to the pleasure.

Ecstasy that Harry had never known flooded him like life's blood. It was heightened further at the sensation of Voldemort spilling his seed deeply within him. They grinded together helplessly, riding the waves till the end only to finally collapse in exhaustion. Harry felt Voldemort pull himself smoothly out and heard him preform a lazy cleaning spell before lying beside him. Then sleep was digging in its iron claws and dragging him down, down, down…

 

* * *

A loud crash awoke Harry from his slumber.

Well, jerked would be a more adequate word. He woke abruptly to hear the sound of shouting and blasts coming from downstairs. The space in the bed beside him was, quite obviously, empty. Voldemort had obviously heard the sounds before him (assuming they had been going on for a while) and had apparently gone to investigate them.

He believed he knew what Voldemort would find. What he didn't believe was that he had just slept with the Dark Lord. Not only that, it had been bloody amazing. Harry hardly had much experience but that it had been _that_ pleasurable disturbed him greatly.

Another shout from downstairs reminded him of a more pressing matter than the loss of his virginity to the evilest wizard that ever lived. The Last Battle was occurring and, instructions or no, Harry was going to bloody well fight in it. He was darn sick of being helpless.

He got up and donned some clothing, making his way to the door.

It was locked.

Obviously, despite Harry's declaration last night, Voldemort still didn't trust him. Stubborn bastard. Harry put a hand to the lock and whispered an unlocking charm. The lock clicked and Harry smugly opened the door. The noise increased significantly and Harry wondered if there were muffling spells on the door. He eyed it suspiciously but another shout and explosion distracted him. With a sigh, he closed the door behind him and made his way towards the noise.

It seemed they had chosen the meeting room as the battlefield. Appropriate, seeing as it was the largest room and had only the single exit. Harry entered, trying to appear as confident and as composed as he could. He was ignored at first but then a Death Eater saw him. He paused, obviously puzzled. Harry belonged to Lord Voldemort after all, and harming him was a punishable offence. Not to mention that he didn't seem to actually be doing anything except walking.

He gained other attention soon and, despite the urgency of the battle, the eyes followed him anxiously, waiting to see what he would do. Voldemort and Dumbledore were in the centre of the hall, duelling madly. Harry approached them. Voldemort was the first to notice him and, incredibly, paused, lowering his wand.

"Harry," He breathed, and that got Dumbledore's attention.

"Hello professor," Harry greeted him coolly, eyes still on Voldemort, looking at him critically ,"Your unharmed, Tom?"

"Yes," Voldemort said, amused once more, "What is this fixation you have with my health?"

Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow at that, considering the tie the potion had created. "I care about it a great deal, Tom. You should be more careful."

"Harry," Dumbledore began, sounding vaguely uncertain, "Come here, my boy. We've come to rescue you."

"You can't," Harry disputed. He approached Voldemort and stood by him. Voldemort laughed, no doubt enjoying the look of total heartbreaking sorrow on Dumbledore's face. Harry placed a palm on Voldemort's chest and he looked down, seeming surprised to find silent tears trailing slowly down Harry's cheeks. They had the Halls attention now.

"Harry?" Voldemort managed, making the name a questioning caress. Harry shivered and let out a little sob despite himself.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, "I really, really am."

Voldemort looked at him in confusion, not seeing any weapon but knowing something was going on. Something was going to happen. Something he had to prevent.

"You love me," Voldemort stated.

"Yes," Harry agreed, though the single word echoed throughout the hall. The silent audience rustled at that.

"You would only harm yourself," Voldemort pointed out softly.

"I know," Harry admitted.

"Why?"

"Because this endless crucade is destroying you Tom," Harry returned gently, "You're so determined to change the world that you've changed yourself with it. I love you and I want a life with you, but how realistic is that really? Where will we live? How can we ever be happy together if we're constantly in danger? Am I just supposed to watch you sacrifice everything to a fight you can't win? A fight that will ruin the lives of hundreds? There's only one thing I love more than you, Tom, and that's the possibility of a world without you. A world where my friends can be safe and happy and free. And they'll never have that. Not with you still living. You were right about the power of love, in the end. I love you enough to stop you now, before it's too late."

Voldemort's eyes blazed, looking directly into his, but they blazed not with fury. They instead shone with a deeper emotion that Harry did not attempt to analyse. It helped, Harry supposed, that Voldemort did not return his love. He was a possession, not a person, and he was Voldemort's.

"I'm sorry," Harry breathed, tilting his head up in a silent question. Voldemort answered, dipping his head to meet Harry in a kiss. Harry did not hear the rushing whispers. He did not hear Dumbledore's gasp. He did not even pause to wonder why Voldemort would kiss him when he knew what it would mean. He simply summoned up every shred of love he felt for the man, holding him tightly as they kissed, and managed to utter two single words into the kiss, before they were lost forever in the recess of their moving mouths.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

Voldemort fell silently and, as the world went black, Harry fell with him.

The last thing he heard was his name being called.

Then there was only darkness

 

* * *

 

Harry walked a road.

He didn't walk it alone. In fact, he didn't even have to look to know who walked at his side.

"Did I do it?" Harry asked, never slowing in his pace.

"Yes," His father answered, "You sacrificed a great deal."

"Love is filled with sacrifice," Harry returned.

"I can certainly attest to that," His mother agreed softly, voice full of sorrow.

"Its over though now? It's done?" He asked.

"Yes," His mother confirmed softly, "It's all over now."

"The world can heal," James added gently.

"I really loved him. Potion or no, I loved him," Harry whispered, staring into the distance where the road seemed to stretch on forever. He wondered where it lead.

"We know," James agreed, not condemning him for that. Harry was grateful, "But it's alright now. And we're almost there."

"Where are we going?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"Home," his mother replied as she took his hand. James followed her lead and took up the other, "We're going home."

Voldemort wouldn't be there, Harry knew. Harry rather doubted he'd ever see the man he loved again. But it was such a long time since Harry had felt safe. Such a very long time since he'd be home. He thought that maybe there wouldn't be any potions there. No prophecies either. The thought appealed to him.

And before him, the road never wavered, leading him dilligently on. Leading him home.

 

* * *

 

Severus Snape looked at the young body in his arms and didn't speak.

Harry had been young. Far too young. One shouldn't die at such an age, let alone sacrifice his life for the good of all.

"He was a brave child," Dumbledore whispered, silent tears streaking gently down his face.

"He is not a child," Severus disputed, matching his tone, "I don't know if he ever was."

"His ability to love always was remarkable," Dumbledore added.

"The Dark Lord underestimated that," Severus commented, never taking his eyes of the man in his arms.

"He underestimated many things," Dumbledore agreed, "and because of Harry, the world can heal again."

Dumbledore walked away, obviously overwhelmed by his own emotions. Severus studied the face beneath him, relaxed in a way he had never seen it. It was as though he had only gone to sleep. Severus knew, would be a fool not to, that Harry Potter would be a name remembered and revered for many years to come for the sacrifice he had made that day. It seemed horribly sad that a boy so young should be forced to make it. He smirked faintly at the child who had been the bane of his existence for many long years and who had just, quite literally, saved the world.

"Good job, Potter," he whispered into the emptiness of the hall, "Good bloody job."

 

~ **The End** ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the story. Please read and review.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Major Character Death and Willing Death contained within (I refrain from using the word 'suicide' as he dies for the greater good and sacrifices his life so that others may live).
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please review :)


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